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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372457">guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/omelettes/pseuds/omelettes'>omelettes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>drivers license [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Based on drivers license - Olivia Rodrigo (Song), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Olympics, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:53:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/omelettes/pseuds/omelettes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Atsumu's grip on the steering wheel loosens. He imagines it was someone else's hand instead. </p><p>He wonders if Kiyoomi, now Sakusa, ever loved him at all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>drivers license [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello! this is my first ever fanfic which is a duology! the writing is probably messy bc its unbetaed and bc i rushed this so i can start on the sequel to this fic. however i had NO idea it would reach 8k, but the sequel fic will be much longer (maybe doubling the word count of this one) :) </p><p>the timeline here is 2019! so the note that atsumu owns is the 2019 model. enjoy!</p><p>EDIT: changing the place from osaka to higashiosaka after ive found out what the jackals hometown is. while not explicitly stated in the fic, atsumu (and also aran) currently lives in chuo-ku (although atsumu lives nearer to the morinomiya station), which is 18 mins. away from higashiosaka.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.</em>
</p><p>— Warson Shire</p><hr/><p>Atsumu's car was a white, Nissan Note.</p><p> </p><p>It was nondescript and plain, shocking Meian when his fox-like eyes set upon the vehicle, questioning the years of knowing the setter's flashy tastes. Preferably, Atsumu would've repainted it to a golden color that matched his team's tracksuit for "mascotting purposes", until 'Samu hit the back of his head with a wet rag and called him an idiot, so the recoloring idea was a bust before he could seriously consider it. The simplicity bothered Aran at first when the blonde pulled up his new, definitely Aran-approved (and by extension, Kita-approved) car, right by the Tachibana Red Falcon gymnasium to pick him up for their monthly Inarizaki Volleyball Club reunion in Onigiri Miya, but the ace never questioned it. </p><p> </p><p>The Nissan Note was also a second-hand purchase, previously owned by an "old money rich" Inarizaki alumni who readily handed her keys to Atsumu once the payment was made and the contract signed. She was a fan of his. (He was convinced that the contract would be photocopied and framed by her bedroom wall as evidence that Miya Atsumu, one of Japan's top setters, gave her an autograph). He drives it everyday to MSBY gymnasium, and aimlessly wanders around the city on his day offs. Sometimes, he lends it to 'Samu and trades it for his brother's old but still functional car, and other times, to Bokkun whenever his own Prius gets confiscated for breaking every road law known to man. </p><p> </p><p>The Note had been Japan's preferred car model in 2018, and Atsumu made sure it was well-kept and washed every single week, glossy enough for him to see his own reflection on the black windows. It blended with the traffic whenever he went out, and he refused to ruin his image by sticking the tacky, Hot Wheel-inspired flame designs that Suna mailed him as a gag gift. A few months ago, 'Samu suggested that he should buy a normal, common car, to avoid the watchful eyes of the paparazzi, and a sports car would "inflate his already big ego". And also if he could have it once Atsumu would actually cave in to buy a sports car. (The setter threw his half-eaten onigiri at his brother's ugly face, cackling at his constipated reaction. 'Samu charged double for his meal.)</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu never bothered to own a car, even when he passed his driving lessons after turning eighteen, 'Samu coming second after calming his road rage down enough for him to be trustworthy on the streets of Hyogo. Their parents offered him their Toyota Aqua as a hand-me-down gift, yet he refused. The silver Aqua eventually went to his twin.</p><p> </p><p>Not that he minded— as much as people hated Atsumu and he hated people, he found comfort in waiting by the bus stop on the way to school and the gossip from the group of girls behind him, the hushed whispers of the Chuo Line's crowded train cars his lullaby when he retires after practice. It reminded him that in this busy world full of people who leave you, divided by the uneven lines drawn with chalk, you were not the only one who felt alienated by everyone, and everyone felt alienated by you. </p><p> </p><p>(The Note was meant to be driven with someone who was no longer a part of the space that Atsumu gave up. So they could stay, and never let go, steering around the city in blissful silence. It was a foolish idea, buying it once he returned from his one year stay in France, even though they broke up halfway into the long distance relationship.</p><p> </p><p>But if he didn't use the vehicle, it would be a waste of money, collecting dust in the underground parking of his apartment complex. He would rather spend his paycheck from sponsors on investing on his brother's restaurant than on junk he'll never hold on to.</p><p> </p><p>The car had been a weird, materialistic coping mechanism to leave team outings when he didn't want to see him any longer.) </p><p> </p><p>So— Atsumu now owns a second-hand white Nissan Note, and he turns on the engine and just stares at the empty, lifeless parking lot for the team and the pitch black sky. The light pollution of the city blocked out the stars, the very same ones he missed gazing at in Amagasaki on the rooftop of his childhood home, but the crescent moon was looming and incomplete. It was conditioning day today, and he swears that his muscles will give out tomorrow, and he will unravel like a fallen roll of thread, or sink into the gymnasium's floor and float and wallow in sorrow like Ophelia from that William Shakespeare play that he didn't pay attention to in English, skimming through his printed Japanese-translated SparkNotes version of the script. </p><p> </p><p>The only other car parked was a black Toyota Sienta that was newer than his Note, rid of grime and gleams under the streetlights of the lot. And Atsumu was not obsessed with cars compared to Ginjima, who rambled on about car models in 2nd year highschool when he got too tired to talk about volleyball, but he thinks its a pretty spacious vehicle ironically owned by a person who technically hates everyone, preferring to lurk outside their peripheral vision in team meetings. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks that he should leave before he sees the owner, before he hurts himself even more. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu floors the pedal once he sees the large gymnasium doors opening, a familiar, pale and lean figure walking out of the building. The blonde speeds to the toll booth where the night guard with the protruding belly greets him a good evening before levelling the barrier, and he wants to go straight home and eat his two day old leftovers and maybe binge watch some torrented Korean drama that Kita-san recommended, Suna gawking when the farmer listed down the shows for Oomimi.</p><p> </p><p>He's been avoiding looking at Sakusa for weeks already, feeling on edge whenever he was near his presence. The tactic was one-sided, the curly-haired spiker attempting to coordinate with him in practice with new strategies, but the murky pressure in his chest was something he wasn't used to.</p><p> </p><p>So everyday, he bolts when Sakusa gets too close to him, retreating to talk to Shouyou or Bokkun or the second-string players, the warmth of his skin tempting to touch, a scalding magma. But he was a professional, and a wounded heart and unfulfilled promises were not going to ruin his career nor his teamwork with anyone. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu just hates it that after all these months, he was pathetic for longing for someone that left him behind and never looked back. </p><p> </p><p>(And he hates owning a car, despises the bareness and the lonely, stifling silence of driving by himself. He never turns on the radio or connects his playlist to the vehicle's bluetooth. He doesn't think the hyperpop will replace the feeling of being alone.) </p><p> </p><p>How pitiable it was for him to freeze at the sight of the man who didn't hesitate to move forward without him. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>The first time Atsumu told Sakusa that he loved him, he still called him Kiyoomi, liking how the name rolled under his tongue. He was drunk off his ass, a problem for tomorrow's Atsumu, buzzed and sweating and entranced with the neon lighting of bar signs that made Kiyoomi's pale, maskless face glow a kaleidoscope of colors, porcelain skin a canvas.</p><p> </p><p>His cheekbones painted in mauve, the slope of his nose hit with periwinkle, his dark irises gleaming gold. There was neon pink that shone brightest on his moles that added his "mysterious, dark allure" that the fangirls online dreamily sighed about, and Atsumu had the urge to kiss them while also wanting to throw up the contents of his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>It was the night after a practice match with Aran's team, the Jackals and the Red Falcons getting shitfaced drunk in an izakaya, the workers unbothered, already knowing how wild they can be. </p><p> </p><p>It was also the same night that he acknowledged that maybe, he did have a crush on his aloof teammate and his dimples from his rare, small smiles that made his stomach flutter. Atsumu remembers giggling like a schoolgirl when Omi-kun was complaining while lugging the setter around, spitting that he should leave the setter on a ditch, that it would be better to replace him with someone more talented, like Kageyama, for the sake of the team's chance for championships, or if he should ask permission from his twin to murder him for drinking three whole bottles of overly sweet soju. Atsumu likes his blunt humor when it reminds him of 'Samu and Suna and Aran and Kita and <em> home. </em></p><p> </p><p>And even with the strings of curses, Kiyoomi was nice enough to accompany him back to the team's shared complex when the blonde could barely stand up with his own two feet, leaving the establishment early since he was a lightweight and Kiyoomi doesn't like drinking too much, and only offered to carry one person. The blonde latched onto him, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket that smelled of disinfectants and lemons. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu likes knowing that he is one of the few people who could touch Sakusa without the spiker recoiling. </p><p> </p><p>(The shared complex was closer to the gym, only a 5 minute walk away. Atsumu enjoyed clamoring around the district with hands in the pockets of his windbreaker and taking in the scent of nearby food stalls, the cool breeze caressing his face when he jogs in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>Now, he couldn't even bear to see it. The new apartment, one train ride away, was a nice change to everything else. It had a pretty view of the sunset that highlighted Osaka's skyline, and it was thirteen minutes closer to Aran's place.)</p><p> </p><p>'Samu told him in one mandatory family get together that even if he were sober, his brain would still lack a filter, which makes him one of the most punchable human beings that ever lived. Atsumu had wondered if Kiyoomi would punch him if he confessed right then and there, underneath the flickering neon lights, bodies warm, hands almost intertwining that wouldn't happen if Atsumu was sober.</p><p> </p><p>The backdrop was fitting and romantic for a confession to a boy whose moles reminded him of constellations.</p><p> </p><p>Then, he heard Kiyoomi choke. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu shot his lolling head to his 'chaperone' immediately, the buzzing in his head growing stronger.</p><p> </p><p>"Omi-kun? Wha's wrong?" he slurred out, pushing away from the coughing figure to see what happened, and woah, there were two Kiyoomis hunched and heaving, before two of them merged into one, and the spiker's dark eyes stared incredulously at the blonde in complete silence. He composed himself before clearing his throat, the setter's glazed eyes mesmerized with the bobbing of his Adam's apple. </p><p> </p><p>"You said you loved me."</p><p> </p><p><em> He did? </em>"I did?"</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes, annoyed. Perplexed at the idea that Atsumu had a crush on him despite their bickering, Barnes jokingly calling it their version of PDA. </p><p> </p><p>"You did." he bit out, straightening his back to loom over a very drunk, very sheepish Atsumu, who buried his face deeper into the high collar of his maroon windbreaker. He was still giggling in his drunken stupor, swaying side by side, brain not processing the words. </p><p> </p><p>Reality came crashing down upon him at what he just did. Atsumu wanted the ground to swallow him up. </p><p> </p><p>"Well," the setter started, nervousness lacing his voice. He forced himself to shrink when he glanced at Kiyoomi's blank stare, his teammate expecting him to say <em> sike! I'm just kidding Omi-kun, live a little</em>, akin to that of an unfunny, bratty grade schooler who confesses to someone they hate as a joke on April Fools' (not that Atsumu knew). "Will you give me an answer?"</p><p> </p><p>Andd he didn't know his voice could do that. The world was lopsided every passing second, the lights all mixing together, and he turned his head to face the beaded entrance of a vape store across the empty streets. </p><p> </p><p>But Atsumu didn't want to hear his answer, not in this drunken haze that was entirely his fault, and the backdrop was reminiscent of a Wong Kar Wai film— lukewarm and melancholic and everything that Atsumu dreams and dreads. Dreads the silence that Kiyoomi brings in the situation, the unreadable expression behind his mask. Kiyoomi took long to answer. </p><p> </p><p>Then, a sigh. "You're drunk." he responded back. "You probably don't know what you're saying."</p><p> </p><p>"No," Atsumu immediately rebutted, "no, I'm sure I like you." A lazy grin emerged from his blissed out face, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the unadulterated <em> love </em>he feels for this man. "I like, like you a lot—"</p><p> </p><p>"Miya—" </p><p> </p><p>"You don't have to answer right now." He flinched at the volume of his voice. At how his voice cracked, and how the pit of his stomach felt empty, no longer feeling the warmth of the soju. </p><p> </p><p>(The entire interaction transformed into an abandoned memory, one that already answered what he knew— a fabricated fantasy that only lasted a year and a half before it all broke off like a contract instead of an uncoupling of two lovers in Venus. A fantasy that was never meant to kickstart in the first place.)</p><p> </p><p>"Actually," he continued, a beat of silence from everywhere dragging too long for his liking. "you don't need to answer at all." And Atsumu hoped he wouldn't, so he could move on in peace without the theatrics. He didn't know why Kiyoomi was maskless that night, but when the man was about to open his mouth, not getting the memo that he should leave Atsumu alone, the setter bolted. </p><p> </p><p>"I'll see you soon." With a push, he had let go of Kiyoomi's jacket, refusing to meet his eyes, and stumbled all the way back to the complex in a daze. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't know how he did it, hauling his half-conscious body without passing out from all the alcohol in his system, or without Kiyoomi chasing after him, but he reached his door and shoved his way inside, haphazardly kicking his shoes away. He didn't bother to turn on the lights or change into his sweats that acted as his pyjamas before slumping onto his bed, ignoring the ache at what might possibly be Atsumu's dumbest drunken decision as of yet.</p><p> </p><p>When he woke up, it was not because of the Cobra Starships alarm he set up that he knew he disabled for the day since it was a day off, but because of the harsh banging that came from his door.</p><p> </p><p>He forced himself to sit up, drowsy and completely hammered. With how loud the knocking was, amplifying the pounding in his head, he had thought it was Bokkun coming by to ask for, well, whatever Bokkun needed to ask, like taxes, which was one thing that neither he (nor 'Samu, by extension) didn't really know about unless they called Akagi on a good day, Aran on a neutral day, and Kita on a bad day, when 'Samu couldn't figure out what the hell the numbers in his excel sheet meant. </p><p> </p><p>A glass of water and two aspirin pills later, he sauntered to slam the door open, only to widen his eyes in shock. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi had been standing in front of him, hand raised mid-knock and almost grazing his nose, dressed in his atrocious Itachiyama jacket that should not be legal to wear in public. Or in front of Atsumu's hungover ass, or anyone with 20/20 vision. His eyes swept up and down at the blonde's ragged state— the collar from his long sleeved shirt exposing his chest, the unstyled and gel-less platinum hair, the tear-stained cheeks that the blonde wasn't aware of until he rubbed his blurry eyes to stay awake. The setter imagined him scowling behind the mask, but the emotion Atsumu can see in his dark eyes was not the typical disgust or indifference that he was accustomed to but—</p><p> </p><p>Pity. It was pity. For pathetic Miya Atsumu. Kiyoomi was looking at him with pity. </p><p> </p><p>(And he fucking despised pity.)</p><p> </p><p>"What." he growled out, eyes narrowed. At the blinding lights, at his own frustration, or at the neon jacket, Atsumu didn't know. Kiyoomi shifted his eyes away from him, skimming the floor, then at him, then the floor again. He does this several times before he spoke. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you remember anything from last night?" He was playing with the strings of his mask, face away at his teammate. His voice was gentle, a foreign sound to the setter's ears. There had been no bite in his voice. This was the first time he was ever gentle with Atsumu. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu didn't like it. </p><p> </p><p>The blonde leaned on his door frame and pinched the bridge of his nose, and really wished he was back asleep to forget this nightmare, and check up on Aran, who was possibly not as drunk as Atsumu was. He would rather do anything than confront his problems head on. "I remember everything, Sakusa." he answered, tone pleading that he really should leave him alone to think. Or not think at all. He's been doing that since he was born. </p><p> </p><p>"...And," a cough. "If I say I liked you back?" </p><p>… </p><p>… </p><p>… </p><p>What the fuck. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu jolted, honey brown eyes widened, gaze stuck in Kiyoomi's hunched and vulnerable figure. His ears were dusted pink, and his long lashes flitted. His foot kicked the floor, impatient, waiting for what the blonde had to say back. His hands retreated into the jacket's pockets. </p><p> </p><p>(Atsumu thought it was cute, that he could fluster the stoic, blunt Sakusa Kiyoomi. Except when he looks back, it wasn't. The entire exchange was just a transaction, with how Kiyoomi looked uneasy standing in front of a trashed teammate's apartment at his lowest moment, pressured by how hopeful the blonde had been when Atsumu fully knew it was an illusion, something foreign and sickening that would build up before the dam couldn't last and destroy everything he knew at its wake.</p><p> </p><p>His chest was congested in dread and a void of longing that he knew Kiyoomi could never satiate.)</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu knew his spikers best. It was his job to ensure that they were in top condition to spike his tosses. He also knows when they lie. He was a seasoned one after all, even towards himself. But—</p><p> </p><p>"You do?" he had asked, softly, no longer leaning on the frame, staring at Kiyoomi with desperation. "Do you mean it?"</p><p> </p><p>And Kiyoomi finally looked straight at Atsumu's eyes. It hardened with an unreadable emotion. </p><p> </p><p>"I do." His posture was tense. </p><p> </p><p>And Atsumu didn't believe it, not right away, but he took the confession anyway.</p><p> </p><p>This was the first step to destruction. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>Some days, Atsumu traces the places in Higashiosaka where he and Sakusa used to linger after practice before everything ended.</p><p>Once, Atsumu promised that he would take him to the lavender fields in Provence where they sell lavender honey and scented pouches with little lavender-filled bear plushies, a vow that never made it once they mutually called it off. When he had told Kiyoomi about the fields, it had been in a small and cluttered DIY store where they bought tiny and gaudy clay pots for the spiker's succulent collection, now converted into a large Don Quixote branch.</p><p> </p><p>He never goes back in the places where they had their dates— like the busy arcade where Kiyoomi claw-machined his way through to obtain a fox plushie for him, or the fro-yo shop that had the best matcha yogurt they had ever tasted, or the quaint Italian-themed cafe where they frequently lounged after staying too long in the gym for extra practice.</p><p> </p><p>They were all within his sight whenever he drove back home, unchanging and undamaged. When he tells 'Samu this, his twin thinks this is metaphor about Sakusa. Atsumu disagreed and claimed it was a basic observation. His twin scoffed over the phone. </p><p> </p><p>The little gifts that the spiker gave him on those dates had been boxed and thrifted to the nearest thrift store that Atsumu frequented in, once he settled down in the new apartment with Aran's old IKEA furniture he donated to the twins. The elderly owner was ecstatic to see the bulk, and when Atsumu returned to buy a shoulder tote bag he had been eyeing ever since he discovered it through shifting the bag rack, most of the items he gave up were gone.</p><p> </p><p>Apparently, advertising junk given up by one of Japan's top setters was enough to boost sales. Only the fox plushie was left on a shelf of miscellaneous items, ragged and sagging and loved. The souvenirs from France meant for Sakusa were given to his cousins and his juniors from Inarizaki.</p><p> </p><p>Kita received a box full of lavender honey from him, his upperclassman thanking him for the gift, and that his grandmother and little brother loved them, and that he really should visit the farm to see the ducks and that he should bring Aran with him too. </p><p> </p><p>The drive home was always hazy, a broken record in his mind replaying and glitching, the corners of an old film frayed with holes. Vaguely, Atsumu hears the chuckles that came from Sakusa's mouth, eyeing the road ahead to spot the red vending machine with the Coca Cola logo next to the FamilyMart, where the team usually loitered around to buy packs of beers for movie night.</p><p> </p><p>And Atsumu feels like he's losing his mind, because Sakusa was not there at all, and he doesn't know why he can hear him. Only highschools were lingering by the vending machine, both holding bottled green tea on one hand, and the other preoccupied with the other's hand.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu wants to punch a brick wall so bad. Maybe even hit his head on one hard enough to bleed, to forget the places that don't care about whether or not they make a mark on them. He wants to sit by a stream and aimlessly stare at nothing. </p><p> </p><p>(When him and 'Samu fought about the grey-haired twin's decision to quit volleyball after highschool, the spiker had told the blonde that there was never going to be anyone who put up with his ass and would die a sad, lonely death, and Atsumu had socked his face and they barely spoke for three whole days before they made their promise to live happier than the other, and in the comfort of their old home, 'Samu had lent him his pudding as a silent apology that he didn't really mean that Atsumu would die alone, not if he was there.</p><p> </p><p>The fight had mostly been forgotten by Atsumu once he reached his second year in the league, but the promise was always there, ready to pull him back up when he felt like he was losing. Atsumu couldn't focus on relationships back then— life as a professional volleyball player, with the sponsorships and the away games and the PR scandals, his first priority had been his career. His second priority had been his family and friends, and the last had been his Instagram account.</p><p> </p><p>'Samu interrogated him, the few hours after he picked him up from the airport and let Atsumu crash in his apartment before the blonde could move into his new one, belongings already sitting in the one bedroom flat. He barged with an array of questions that he half-heartedly paid attention to, like <em> when did you guys break up? </em> or <em> were you going to tell me or was your empty head too busy thinking about volleyball? </em> or <em> can't believe I had to hear it from fucking Sunarin who heard it from Komori </em> , and <em> why he would still stay in a team with </em> <b> <em>him.</em></b></p><p> </p><p>And Atsumu, being the brat that he was, had been mindlessly watching a slasher film with his brother's Netflix, raising up the volume, and screams at the jumpscares instead of talking to him.</p><p> </p><p>He was just tired from the jetlag and the lack of leg space in the plane's economy class, the heartbreak months old but visceral, and he vowed that he wouldn't break down and be weak-willed in front of his twin. He remembers 'Samu sighing, then the chef shoving new onigiri flavors down the blonde's throat, muttering about looking too skinny than usual. </p><p> </p><p>He cried the first night back. He was showering in the guest bathroom, his legs wobbly and the sound of the shower could not muffle the sobs that escaped him. When he stepped out of the bathroom, drained but restless, 'Samu was sitting on the couch, ice-cream in hand. He cried even harder.)</p><p> </p><p>He parks by the sidewalk reserved for customers and enters the FamilyMart, tripping over a trash bag. He's hungry for some Melona pops. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>The day when Atsumu was certain that his love had been unreciprocated was during a party at Fukuro Hirugami's penthouse. It had been 3 weeks before his flight, and the Jackals were invited by Shouyou, who was actually invited by Hoshiumi and Tobio, because Fukuro had an off-court vendetta with Meian, even though Inunaki confirmed that the two were dating after seeing the veteran players make out in the locker room after an away match.</p><p> </p><p>(Tomas had confirmed because he was right behind the libero, and almost fainted from the betrayal that their captain had been in "cahoots" with the enemy team, and fainted for real when Shouyou told him that he was dating Tobio). </p><p> </p><p>All the Division 1 V.League players had been invited into his sleek, modern and minimalist home that overlooked Tokyo, the event hosted by none other than Shoko Hirugami, going all out with the strobe lights and the alcohol and the booming hyperpop music, probably ignoring her brother and his makeout session with the Black Jackals captain. Sweaty men and women players were mingling about, Kanoka Amanai freaking out at the amount of gin that her captain chugged down, and it was a get together of Japan's tallest citizens, save for Hoshiumi and Hinata. </p><p> </p><p>Not that they'd get lost in the cluster of giants. Fukuro's younger brother had a lapful of a drunk and giggly Hoshiumi, and beside them, Tobio also had a lapful of a tipsy Shouyou. The two shrimps were swordfighting with plastic spoons, and their lovers were snuggling onto their backs. They were in good hands.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu had been chatting with Suna, who was definitely Instagramming live the whole time, because Suna now lived in Hiroshima except during the off-season where he stayed with 'Samu, and the middle blocker gave tips on how to handle long-distance relationships once he leaves for France, which Atsumu had whined about because him and 'Samu were still in the same timezone. Then, they were talking about the National Team, discussing about World's, before Suna went to find Riseki, and Atsumu wandered away to find Kiyoomi, who was hiding from the crowd. </p><p> </p><p>When he finally saw him after getting distracted by the Picasso-like mural that covered an entire wall (Atsumu musing that Meian should reconsider dating someone as tacky as Hirugami), Kiyoomi was lounging on a black velvet loveseat inside a vacant plant-filled room, a very sober Komori (which didn't make sense because Komori was always drunk in these occasions) sitting next to him, an arm away. The room was separated from the rest of the crowd, the only other sounds being the faint thudding of the music and the chatter he could hear from the partygoers that stood by the patio with the jacuzzi.</p><p> </p><p>His boyfriend and his cousin were talking in hushed whispers, their drinks most likely forgotten by the coffee table by their knees. He was about to call out to them, their backs facing him, until he heard the dreaded words he was too scared to confront.</p><p> </p><p>"What's the difference between infatuation and love?" </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu halted. His fingernails digging into his skin, and if he didn't regularly take care of them to let them grow longer, it would break the callousses of hands. He can't see their expressions, but he can hear his heart beating against his ribs, the drop in his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>It was his cue to enter, too cowardly to face the situation. Not prepared to hear whatever Komori was going to say. Atsumu had taken a deep breath, exhaled, and stretched his grin. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Act natural. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Omi-kun!" </p><p>Kiyoomi turned around at the sound of his voice, his curled hair framing his face nicely, and Atsumu should have felt lucky for loving a man as beautiful as a marble statue, chiseled and smooth-skinned and crafted by Aphrodite herself. The spiker smiled tentatively at him, Komori staring at him with an emotion he refused to notice, and Atsumu's grin faltered. "Did I interrupt something?" </p><p> </p><p>"No—" Kiyoomi inhaled. "Of course not, Atsumu."</p><p> </p><p>(Whenever Kiyoomi says his first name, it began with a hesitant pause. "Atsumu" was foreign on his lips, a tongue twister he couldn't perfect. Atsumu knew he would rather call him "Miya", because "Atsumu" was too intimate and unearned, and he doesn't understand why Kiyoomi would choose to lie to the both of them with counterfeit love. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu doesn't know why Kiyoomi couldn't just be fucking blunt with him.)</p><p> </p><p>The blonde's saccharine grin widened even further, sitting on the arm of the loveseat to push back his boyfriend's hair away from his pretty eyes, whilst Komori gagged and choked on his champagne in mortification that Kiyoomi could apparently "soft, seriously Atsumu, the only thing that can make him soft are dogs". They left the party later than everyone else to ride with their lethargic teammates in a cramped family van, and Kiyoomi reached for his hand and squeezed. Atsumu wasn't comforted by the gesture. </p><p> </p><p>"Say, Omi," he said, squeezing his hand back. "What if we got a car together?" Because what else was as intimate as sharing an apartment with someone you loved? Roaming around the streets with your lover, he guesses. </p><p> </p><p>(They never moved in with each other. They didn't even look at cars together. They probably never will.)</p><p> </p><p>Through his dazed eyes, Kiyoomi hummed. "Sure." He looked around the van and pushed off Shouyou's head from his shoulder, and his head landed on Barnes' biceps instead. "I want a sedan though."</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu chuckled and leaned into Kiyoomi's shoulder. The spiker lets him. </p><p> </p><p>(He knew that with one final push, everything would fall apart. That Kiyoomi would find an excuse before their world quits around them.</p><p> </p><p>Time was ticking. He wishes for forever.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Atsumu steps out of the FamilyMart after bidding the cashier a farewell, with plastic bags full of cup ramen and meat buns for the way home.</p><p> </p><p>The two girls had already left, and the setter opens the door to his car and shoving the food to the backseat, chewing on one stale meatbun that would've tasted a lot better if he stopped by the store in the morning instead of the evening.</p><p> </p><p>Osaka was pretty at night, prettier than the streets of Paris had ever been for him, not really seeing the "appeal" of western structures and the French tongue he could barely speak. </p><p> </p><p>On the way, with traffic starting to build up, he breezes by hole-in-the-wall restaurants and night markets that 'Samu dragged him during cheat days to "abuse his paycheck" and because he "owed him for stealing his shit back in highschool". It was a hotspot for fatigued workers with energy left for socializing, the atmosphere cozy and alive. He had brought Sakusa to some of them after researching which ones were health-inspector worthy, date nights overflowing with ricocheted laughter, pink cheeks, and full stomachs. </p><p> </p><p>He stops by the oden restaurant that he and Sakusa mutually loved when the stoplight turns red. </p><p> </p><p>The oden restaurant had been Atsumu's favorite. The appearance was unassuming with its navy blue walls, but the fishcakes had the right consistency and flavor, 'Samu praising the owner before they exchanged numbers for business opportunities while Atsumu stole some of his twin's daikon. It was one of the only establishments Sakusa was willing to return to without being grossed out, and the setter watches the customers raising their beers through the large glass windows covered with promotional posters, their heads thrown back in humor.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu remembers the way Kiyoomi reached for his hand, fingers brushing his knuckles, during their first date. They finished the entire hotpot in content, a feat for someone as picky as the Itachiyama alumni was. The blonde had been ripping apart the tissue paper in boredom after his phone died, running out of things to talk about with the spiker, when Kiyoomu stopped him in warning, and let his hand rest on top of Atsumu's palm.</p><p> </p><p>When Kiyoomi tightened his tender hold, Atsumu stared at him unabashedly, but Kiyoomi was looking at someone else, through the windows. And when the blonde looked back, there was no one there. </p><p> </p><p>(He didn't want to think about the image the spiker conjured up, when his touch brandished his sun-kissed skin. He didn't want to know who he replaced Atsumu with.)</p><p> </p><p>When he takes a peek at his side, shaking his head from the memory, Atsumu sees the black Sentai that Sakusa owned, pulling up by the entrance of the small establishment. He watches as the man steps out of his car, the car that Atsumu should've gotten him when he came back, dressed in a grey peacoat and a snug black turtleneck. His breath hitches at how beautiful Sakusa looks, and he notes that he's maskless. </p><p> </p><p>(The last time Atsumu had seen Sakusa maskless outside of practice, team dinners, and interviews after a match, it was during a video call. Sakusa's phone camera was on, and Atsumu's wasn't. It was their last video call in general.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa never removed his mask around Atsumu when they were alone after that.)</p><p> </p><p>When Atsumu removes his eyes away from him, he looks into the restaurant, glowing under the orange lighting, and sees a tall, well built figure dressed in a familiar white jacket with an orange ombre. Atsumu's first thought was why the hell was an Adler doing in Osaka, and his second thought was why the hell was Schweiden Adler's No. 11, and not Tobio, in Osaka. </p><p> </p><p>He felt the temperature drop in the air when he processed what was going on. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ushijima Wakatoshi sat by the window seat, reading the menu diligently. His hair was gelled back, and since when did Japan's Canon wear golden-rimmed glasses? His posture was tense, legs open into a manspread, an Adonis surrounded by mere mortals. He looks up from the menu before setting it aside, and he stares fondly at Sakusa, who was by the entrance, removing his peacoat before noticing him. </p><p> </p><p>And when Sakusa turns to look at Ushijima, walking to the table, Atsumu tries to think of a time that the spiker looked at him like that. </p><p> </p><p>There had been none. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu's grip on the steering wheel loosens. He imagines it was someone else's hand instead. </p><p> </p><p>He wonders if Kiyoomi, now Sakusa, ever loved him at all.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>The unprompted break up call happened before Atsumu could sleep, and Atsumu was in the middle of applying aloe vera on his skin, when Kiyoomi's name popped up from his notifications. Kiyoomi has never seen Atsumu in the middle of his skincare routine, and the blonde doesn't plan to let him see. So Atsumu switched off his camera before he accepted the call, ready to greet his LDR boyfriend with a chirp, until Kiyoomi had straightforwardly told him that they should break up. </p><p> </p><p>His voice sounded robotic. Atsumu had asked him why, even when he already knew the answer. There were too many evidences of what was to come, but he needed to hear. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi only returned humorless laugh. The blonde didn't think that this was a joking matter. There had been no humor in his pixelated eyes. "Miya, be honest. It's been hard, doing this long distance thing." he answered. "I think its even harder on you, with your schedule and all. You don't need to waste every night calling for me."</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu never thought it was a waste, hearing Kiyoomi's husky voice. Atsumu never thought anything they did was a waste at all. </p><p> </p><p>But Kiyoomi was finally finding an out. An excuse. A termination. To break it all off. And the insecurities that built up within the setter's mind for a year finally let out, one that he had never acknowledged and neither did anybody else because they were a <em> perfect couple </em> and before he could even stop himself, he asks:</p><p> </p><p>"Did you ever love me?" </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu's mouth was dry, and his lungs breathed in the stale Parisian air from his open window. And he wiped away the aloe vera from his face with a towel, the tears beginning to well up before he could even take out his contacts. The studio apartment felt smaller, and Atsumu felt claustrophobic, and the grip on the bathroom sink was too tight, his fingers too red. The memory of 'Samu telling him of his lack of a filter and him dying alone entered his mind. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi had a panicked expression. "I did—" </p><p> </p><p>"Don't lie." Atsumu started, keeping his camera turned off. Kiyoomi didn't need to see his broken look. Hell, he didn't need to look at his <em> own </em> dejected face in the mirror, but he can't help see how miserable he appeared. "Did you just agree to the confession because you tolerated me?" </p><p> </p><p>When he looked back at Kiyoomi, the screen staticy and glitching from the shitty wifi signal, a scowl was on his maskless face. He bristled. "Don't you dare blame this on me—" </p><p> </p><p>"I'm not blaming you." his voice let out. Too soft, too cracked. He wasn't even sure if Kiyoomi could hear it. And it wasn't his his fault— Atsumu knew it wasn't his fault. Kiyoomi needed to know this.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm asking if you ever liked me back, or if you only said yes because you saw how sad I was, when we both knew you never loved me. If those moments meant something— or if they were just outings to you that you wouldn't even look back from."</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi stared blankly at the black screen, his jaw locked. He was so stiff compared to how he was in the court. "You made it hard to say no, Miya."</p><p> </p><p>An empty laugh escaped Atsumu's lips. "And you could've said no. I wouldn't be angry."</p><p> </p><p>"But—"</p><p> </p><p>"Loving you wasn't hard—" Atsumu tapped his fingers on the counter of his kitchenette. It was a nervous tick of his, developed after he stopped biting his nails, before his mom made him wear clear nail polish to stop biting them because clear nail polish tastes bitter and factory-made. "I like you, and loving you was easy, but you loving me was hard, because you never did. So you should've said no."</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi massaged the sides of his forehead, his hair sticking up as his neon headband held it in place. Atsumu would have found it endearing in different circumstances. "How did you know?" he paused, and added, "that I didn't like you?" </p><p> </p><p>There it was again. The forced gentleness. Like Atsumu would break down if he upset him even further. He had never felt more insulted. </p><p> </p><p>Here were the facts: Kiyoomi had never loved him with the way he pulled away when Atsumu stepped closer to him. Or when he looked at the blonde like he was a temporary obstacle. Or when he finds saying 'Samu's name easier, even if they were dating. Or when Kiyoomu refused to let Atsumu in his apartment, and when the setter finally did step into the spiker's abode, there were no traces of Atsumu, while his own place had pieces left by Kiyoomi— his black mug, his ugly neon pink hoodie, his emergency hygiene kit whenever Atsumu invited him for the night. And Kiyoomi never stayed. </p><p> </p><p>Even the few chaste kisses felt cold. Like it hadn't been meant for him at all. </p><p> </p><p>And when Atsumu pondered a bit more, he realized that Kiyoomi never even let him in— everything he told himself to the blonde was surface level, conversations never intimate.</p><p> </p><p>And he knows that when lovers collide, every small thing about them was still beautiful even when it seems pointless to others— trusted in the hands of someone that would make them happy, caressed in the caverns of one's heart. Atsumu doesn't know much about Kiyoomi's childhood other than the spiels from Komori, nor does he know what his fears were, and every meaningful thing that defined Kiyoomi did not give space for the blonde in the first place. He was just connected to volleyball. But Atsumu had given his entire heart to someone who could not take it back. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe they were both cowards for waiting for an opportunity to end things. Maybe they had been cowards from the start to initiate a relationship that would never have support at all. </p><p> </p><p>A sob escaped his lips. Kiyoomi still couldn't see him, but he could hear him. His own hands trembled and refused to hold on any longer. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't think it matters. It wasn't like you ever intended to stay, no matter what I did. I know me leaving was just an excuse for us to break things off." </p><p> </p><p>He can taste the salt from his tears. Kiyoomi looked indifferent. At least he was starting to be honest, Atsumu mused. </p><p> </p><p>"You want to know the sad part about this? After this, you're going to live normally, because you weren't actually in love with me. You're not going to fondly remember any of the things we did. And I can't move on that easily because I'll still love you. The time wasted together— it's not something that you could give back."</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu looked away from his screen. Fuck it. Fuck it all. </p><p> </p><p>"...I'm sorry." Regret laced Kiyoomi's voice. "I really am."</p><p> </p><p>The blonde scoffed. "Whatever. Don't let this shit change our team dynamic when I come back."</p><p> </p><p>He hung up before Kiyoomi could say anything, and in the bare, temporary apartment that had a shitty window lock, Atsumu wept alone, phone thrown on the carpeted floor.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn't slept that night, and he wanted the mattress to swallow him up. When his teammates asked him in broken English what was wrong during stretches, Atsumu told them to not worry about it, and they had invited him to watch a French drama he did not understand even with the subtitles in one of the older player's apartment, and let him drink an entire bottle of red wine, patting his back.</p><p> </p><p>He never talked about Kiyoomi to them, because of the language barrier and that Kiyoomi was his and he wanted to be his, but now—</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't tell anyone back home about the breakup. He's sure Sakusa would. He doesn't cut any corners. </p><p> </p><p>(And he did. He had crashed into his bed at 6pm, when he should've been oversharing annecdotes to the Inarizaki or MSBY group chats, his body sore and eyes heavy and mind buzzing, finally succumbing into slumber. He slept for 12 hours.</p><p> </p><p>Suna spammed him messages while he kept on sleeping— first jokes about how Sakusa couldn't handle him and his ugly as fuck dye job, then hundreds of question marks, and then concern and if he was alright and if he'll actually text back, all left on read.</p><p> </p><p>'Samu's text had been a simple "hey, call me back", and the first thing Atsumu had done once he woke up, he had muted his chat notifications. He had hung up any calls his twin made in LINE, telling him he was busy.</p><p> </p><p>Blocked the groupchat with Shouyou, Bokuto, Inunaki, and Tomas as well, in case they were privy, and they always were. </p><p> </p><p>A few minutes later, Aran had sent him a catalogue of the trendiest car models in the Inarizaki group chat, and Atsumu chuckled and texted that he would buy a Ferrari. The ace only sent him back the rolling eye emoji. Atsumu promises to buy Aran a beret that will match his team jersey.</p><p> </p><p>Kita had asked if he wanted packed seaweed mailed to him, courtesy of his seafood marketplace acquaintance, and Atsumu had texted him heart emojis and a "<em>sure kita-san &lt;3 :)</em>" and a dozen more kaomojis. </p><p> </p><p>Suna and' Samu hadn't asked him about the breakup after that, Suna sending him memes and 'Samu sending him restaurant suggestions. Atsumu was grateful.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Atsumu's first crush had been Kita back in highschool, who rejected his confession gracefully, which Atsumu didn't feel bad about because Suna also had a crush on Kita that he and his twin teased him about until he moved on and started pining after 'Samu in their third year in Inarizaki.</p><p> </p><p>He was also sure that Minato, the brown-haired bowl cut kid (that reminded him of his pissy doctor, Shirabu-san), also had a crush on the farmer, and Aran too, when he remembers his childhood friend blushing around Kita's presence during a break, although he could've been blushing at <em> Akagi </em> who always stood next to the former captain, who had been blushing at <em> Oomimi </em> who always stood next to the ace <em> , </em>and the three of them blushed around each other that Kita retired to the side of the gym to sit with the 2nd years.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, maybe only him, Suna, and Minato had a crush on their former captain. </p><p> </p><p>Kita still stayed a friend that he could confide in— ready to lend a hand to Atsumu's woes or Aran's problems with the twins he still sees every 2 days per week because they lived near each other, whenever the farmer visited Onigiri Miya to personally deliver the shipment of rice, puppy love forgotten. Twice per month, Atsumu visits Kita's farm with Aran, and he gets to take a walk around the fields and drink tea with him. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu's second crush had been Tobio-kun during the 2016 Olympics, two setters on the court living the dream that they had chased for over the years, the lights of the Olympic stadium under the Brazilian heat exhilarating to feel on their skin. Then, it was Shouyou-kun, whom he forgot about once the orange-haired spiker disappeared off the radar after graduating, only knowing that he travelled to Brazil from drinking with Tobio when he came to visit Tokyo, and started crushing on him after he showed up to the try-outs with a tan and freckled shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>However, Tobio-kun had already caught Shouyou's heart for years, and Atsumu let that love for the both of them shrivel and die before its vines would wrap around his heart. It transformed into a more platonic love, happy for his rival and his teammate, but he was kind of disgusted when he walked in on them messily making out in the hotel corridors because they lost their keycards that Atsumu had to replace for them. </p><p> </p><p>The price of unloving Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio was that he got to be a third wheel in their dates, because Tobio-kun looked up to him as a setter and Shouyou thinks Atsumu was funny and cool, and Hoshiumi was the fourth wheel when there was no Sachiro-kun around, and the blonde wondered if Tobio-kun or Shouyou knew what a date actually was or if the younger setter was stealing his volleyball strategies under the guise of dating his wing spiker. He asked Hoshiumi this, and he just shrugged, genuinely not knowing. </p><p> </p><p>It just hurts that Sakusa was the only one he couldn't move on from.</p><p> </p><p>It was suffocating— being trapped in a dark sea with no escape, sinking even further towards the ocean floor, the pressure accumulating in his limbs, his head, his chest. Loving Sakusa was different from loving Kita or Tobio or Shouyou, knowing that he didn't have a chance with the three of them, but tired of just loving and not being loved back.</p><p> </p><p>So he holds on to a plastic love that had no foundations since the beginning, Babylon's tower crumbling down until its people moved away and forward to newer heights, ambitions and languages now distinguishable. </p><p> </p><p>No one willingly stays with Atsumu. That was a fact. They get stuck with him in an escape room until the timer stops and the doors open, leaving behind a problem they solved on their own while he just stands there, confused with the sheets and the keys and the little bits of information they've gathered.</p><p> </p><p>The light turns green. He drives off before he sees Sakusa and Ushijima lean in for a kiss, their love public to the world but the touches private to the eyes. The ache in his chest becomes dull, and his throat itches, and his tears are unstoppable and he lets them fall. </p><p> </p><p>When Atsumu first kissed Kiyoomi, it had only been a soft peck. It hadn't been filled with love. It was only an obligation. </p><p> </p><p>Everything feels blue. The painted white arrows on the streets blur. The cars move, a motion blur photograph in Atsumu's eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He realized he never stood a chance. He wonders if he was ever worth it at all, to be loved back. </p><p> </p><p>He drives alone. He always does. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was also supposed to be a cute sunaosa car fic but then i was replaying drivers license in spotify so now its a sakuatsu post-break up fic. this is just a prequel to the atsumu ship i actually want to write though bc im not a sakuatsu. i also dont get spacing in this site but i will get there! hope u enjoyed it!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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